


The Song

by Today4You



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And sherlocks, Classical Music, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Music, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, but does he even sleep anyways?, restless nights on john's part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5002093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Today4You/pseuds/Today4You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A song can't encompass all the feelings towards someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A restless night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Memefucker246sodone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memefucker246sodone/gifts).



His reading lamp shone a warm yellow light onto the book he was reading. Fingers played with the end of the page, lazily turning to the next one as he finished the last sentence. His eyes read words, but his mind wandered somewhere else entirely. Not on the plush softness of his chair, imprinted from all the times he had sat in that very spot, updating his blog, reading, or enjoying a drink. Neither was it on the smell of his tea, sitting on a saucer on the table next to him, filling his nostrils with the gentle aroma of peppermint, in spirit of the season. 

 

He had chosen that particular tea on an outing to the supermarket not but a few days ago. Sherlock insisted that it made the house smell weird the first time he brewed it. Since then he has enjoyed every sip he has taken. Yet, it was not enough to hold his attention away from the book.

 

It was not that the book was not interesting. In fact, John thought it might soon become his favorite book and he looked forward to see how it would come to a close. It had a rich storyline and deep characters that seemed to come to life through the words. In actuality, the thing that held his attention at the moment happened to be the soft, drawn out sound of a violin. It flowed through his ears, a gentle melody that would often stop as the individual playing it would bend to write the notes on his sheet music, unaware or uncaring of anything else around him that was not himself or the violin he was holding.

 

Said individual would often stop for multiple minutes, looking at the music and making a face. A dissatisfied noise, as though thinking intensely about something or another, sometimes accompanied that as though he was deeply annoyed.. John looked up in curiosity at the man in question at a particularly long pause. He had stopped for at least thirty minutes now. Completely distracted from his book, he grabbed for the book mark on the end table, carefully slipping it in the crack between pages and closed the book. He set it down and stood up, stretching his muscles. He looked at Sherlock who had his head bowed in front of the music stand, tapping his foot. He looked disgruntled. John thought back to how Sherlock had always told him that composing music had always helped him think. What could he be thinking so intently on, then? He walked over to him.

 

"What are you thinking on? It's not like we have a case we are currently working on or anything. You seem...stumped. The great Sherlock Holmes seems stumped." He said, a smile tugging gently on his lips. A chuckle accompanied that soon after.

 

"I was wondering why." He inquired after Sherlock didn’t reply to him for about thirty seconds. It was like Sherlock to keep things hidden from John. He didn’t do it on purpose, it just never crossed his mind to tell him about it. Like when he was having a particularly bad day or he was feeling stressed out. It left John trying to assume stuff from his body language.

 

Sherlock looked up at him with that face. The focused and confused face of a genius. He had a wide eyed look of concentration he got when he was thinking of twenty things or more all at once and trying to link them together. His eyebrows were all scrunched up in the way they do. Really, John found it quite charming. He leaned forward, resting his hand on his cheek as he kissed him gently before pulling away. Sherlock broke out of his daze with an gentle, annoyed noise.  
"Nothing to bother yourself with John." He said simply, waving him away. He grabbed his violin playing a few more notes. He made a disgusted face, as if the violin itself had insulted him.

 

"No no, not those ones." He muttered, erasing something on the paper. John raised a curious eyebrow.

 

"Hmmm...alrighty then. I think I will head off to bed then." He told him, an inquiring in his voice to see if Sherlock would like to join him, or if he would be up all night trying to sedate his curious mind over whatever it was he was trying to figure out. Sherlock sighed and stared at the violin, seeming tempted at the idea but ultimately shutting it down.

 

"Go on without me, I will most likely be working on this throughout the night." He told him, waving him off once more. John retreated, taking his cup of tea and book into the bedroom, hoping to be able to focus more on them in there. Maybe in the morning Sherlock would be willing to share exactly what he had been working on.


	2. Breakfast

As John sat at the kitchen table, the smell of his tea slowly brought him to the world of the waking. The slow ticking of the clock above the stove was the only sound other than his breathing. He took this time to reflect on the night before.

 

Sherlock had been up rather late, only coming to bed when the sun was rising. Despite this fact, he knew that he would wake up any moment now. John himself had only gotten a brief amount of sleep the night before. This, of course, was due to the song that Sherlock was so adamant on spending all night writing.

 

He once again wondered what the song was for. After all, he was getting fairly curious by now. They hadn’t worked on any major cases in a while and he couldn’t recall anything too stressful in Sherlock's life at the moment.

 

Maybe it was simple. Maybe he was bored!

 

But he didn’t write when he was bored. He played songs that were familiar to him so he could think of a way not to be bored.

 

Maybe he was angry?

 

But what would he be angry about? And, either way, John knew when the other was in a mood. He would play fast paced music that would perfectly encompass his burning anger, every note as precise as when Sherlock fired a gun. The music would fill the small apartment and it seemed as though even the walls and pieces of furniture would hold their breath, amazed and scared of how the anger consumed the atmosphere of the building.

 

Or he would, you know, shoot a wall or something.

 

But THIS song. The song that Sherlock was writing was completely different than any other type of song he had heard him playing before. It was played lightly, as though walking on clouds, making it seem like midday, no matter how late into the night Sherlock played it. But it wasn’t a pointlessly joyful song, he didn’t even think Sherlock could play those kinds of songs. This song...This song had a reason behind it. There were short staccato high notes and drawn out low notes that brought along the idea of a deeper meaning. It was a song that was carefully planned out. It was as though someone was picking apart what each note meant and rearranging it into a story. As if every note was a stroke of paint on a canvas. It was a song that had a purpose to it. 

 

Either way, he decided these were too deep of thoughts to be having this early in the morning. He tucked the thought away into the back of his mind and focused on his tea instead.

 

He took a slow sip of the tea, the vibrant flavor helping him wake up. It had a familiarity to it that warmed his insides. He let out a soft sigh which quickly developed into a sleepy yawn.

 

“Hmmm….tired? Considering the time you went to bed last night you should have gotten a perfectly acceptable amount of sleep, according to the Great British Sleep Survey conducted in 2012.” Came the low drone of Sherlock’s voice from the hallway.

 

As he walked into the kitchen, John couldn’t help the fond smile when presented with the familiar sight. Even half asleep with his hair sticking up in disarray from the bedhead, Sherlock had a smugness that never seemed to leave his features. It was somewhat charming, he had to admit.

 

“Well, maybe if you didn’t stay up plucking at your violin all night, I would have been able to sleep.” He pointed out.

\--------------------

Sherlock chuckled and picked up the cup of coffee that John had had waiting for him on the table, as per usual. He gazed into the cup, wondering when their life had become so predictable. He frowned when he was unable to come up with an exact date.

 

He sat down in the chair opposite of John, looking up at him through eyes that were still heavy with sleep. He took sight of his soft oatmeal colored hair reflecting the bright yellow light of the rising sun....the eyes that were so bright and full of life, even with how early it was….the lazy smile that was sent in his direction...He saw all of these things and realized that sometimes being predictable wasn’t a downfall. If their morning routine being like that led to him getting to see that sight everyday, he would happily be this predictable.

 

He would have to remember this for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait, lolol. I'm obsessive about redoing. I'll still probably go redo this one again, it is a bit short.

**Author's Note:**

> Please be kind. This is my first time uploading any of my fanfiction on here and my first time writing any form of Sherlock fanfiction. 
> 
> Dear Seege, I hope you enjoy this to it's completion. I love you.


End file.
